Resonance
by Lissy Stage
Summary: A journey through the beginning of Gibbon's first several weeks of third-year, in search of that one special class. Or, Gibbon really has no clue what he's doing. Written for season two, round five of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. Gen.


**Title**: Resonance

**Beta**: CleopatraIsMyName

**Word Count**: Over 2200

**Rating**: G/K

**Prompts/Challenges**: Written for season two, round five of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition (reserve keeper for Puddlemere United; Gibbon; #10, in their favourite class at Hogwarts) and the Your Favourite Hogwarts House Boot Camp challenge (#6, Astronomy Tower).

**Warning**(**s**): Crack

**Disclaimer**: This work of fiction is in no way connected to the author of Harry Potter, JK Rowling. Harry Potter is owned by her, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

Before Gibbon had entered his third year of Slytherin, he hadn't really given much of any thought to the different extracurricular activities he might be able to take part in, let alone the different electives he would have a chance to choose from. Not being totally sociable, Gibbon had instead chosen to be studious, and read through all his textbooks at least once. And while he had even managed to leaf through _Hogwarts, A History_ enough to have several passages in the bloody book memorised, he still hadn't really given a thought as to the class or classes he would be taking as part of his block.

So, when he had got his Hogwarts letter, along with a list of the electives on a piece of parchment to write or check off whichever classes he wished to take that year, he was completely caught off guard. His mother had been more than just a bit displeased when he had fallen out of his seat in the dining hall. In her narrowed gaze and pinched lips were written his sentence: punishment in the house elf kitchens.

It was really quite ironic that Gibbon was rather terrified of magical creatures of all sizes, despite his last name. And quite sad how his mother never failed to lord it over him.

The list itself was rather extensive, especially so because Gibbon felt that looming deadline and knew he would need to make a decision, and a decision soon.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Gulping, he shifted restlessly in his seat and wondered why he hadn't even bothered to look up the bloody classes beforehand. He had known third-year was the year they started electives, hadn't he? Maybe he'd heard a boy in maroon house colours say it once. Maybe not. Maybe he'd known all along. The point was, brain, that had he needed to make a decision, and a decision now. Which he'd already thought similarly minutes ago. Bloody barmy brain.

Groaning at his own procrastination, Gibbon sat back and stared up at the ceiling.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Grinning smugly to himself, he checked off his choice and wrote it down with the practise of calligraphy classes on behest of his parents.

* * *

"Mister Gibbon?"

Gibbon paused slightly in what he was doing, before lifting up his head. Professor Slughorn had an uncomfortable grin affixed upon his unfortunate face, holding a piece of parchment out, his own head indicating he should follow him outside the common room. It looked more like the man had a tick, if Gibbon were honest. But Gibbon rarely ever voiced such thoughts, so it was no surprise to the professor when he just got up and followed him out, without any noise of disgruntlement or disagreement.

"I must ask you," Professor Slughorn started uneasily. Gibbon wondered if the man knew he was acting this way. It was most unbecoming of the Head of Slytherin House. "The Headmaster believes you may have made an error when you filled out your form for electives. Is this true, Mister Gibbon?"

"An error?" Gibbon intoned slowly. He cursed himself when he thought of blinking, and had to manually perform the act by himself. The professor looked at him strangely, and he wondered if he had managed to blink too slowly, like he had drawled his previous words.

"Well, my boy," the man shook his head with a sigh of exasperation. "You checked all the boxes off, and then wrote 'Everything'."

"That's correct," Gibbon nodded his head. "May I please go now, Professor?"

"Mister Gibbon, there is a limit when you start taking electives, all depending on your class performance, and what classes you have on your schedule. It wouldn't be wise to try and take all these classes each week, especially because there is simply not enough time in the day for thirty electives."

Gibbon made no comment, despite wanting to scream, 'I have no interest in any of them!'

"How about we do a test run?" The professor asked.

"You mean I can try all the classes and pick which ones I would prefer to take?"

"Yes!"

After a few moments contemplation, Gibbon eventually nodded his head in reluctance.

"I'll do the test run."

"Splendid," Professor Slughorn inclined his head again, and Gibbon suppressed the urge to inquire about what ailed the older man. It wasn't tactful. He shot what he hoped was a sympathetic, if not pitying, glance at his Head of House, but the man merely gave him another weird look. Gibbon wrote a mental note to himself that the man was obviously either oblivious, or highly sensitive and in denial. "I'll just go and ask the Headmaster if he would allow this for you, and see about getting you a time-table."

Gibbon now recalled what he had forgotten. The time-table. How he managed to miss that he hadn't been given one in the first place was beyond his comprehension.

"I'll need one anyway."

"I'll hand it to you at breakfast tomorrow morning. Now, get to sleep. You seem like you need a good night's rest."

Gibbon shot him a weird look of his own, and walked back into the common room, picking up what he had left behind the couch cushions and left for his dorm.

Professor Slughorn must be projecting, he decided as he snuggled beneath the thick covers of his bed. He acted as though I was sick. Someone must question the man about that tick.

* * *

"So, I hear you're on one of those elective test runs," a girl Gibbon didn't know commented. He gave a grunt as an answer.

"Okay," she drawled. She straightened up and added, "Tell me, what is your favourite class so far?"

It'd only been a week and he'd taken three electives besides his required courses: Muggle Art, Care of Magical Creatures, and Frog Choir.

Muggle Art was so clearly beneath him, he had nearly conjured Fiendfyre the moment he'd stepped into the room to burn the entirety of the class, students and teachers and all, to the ground. Care of Magical Creatures involved some sort of primate he'd only barely paid attention to - a half-chimera, if his memory of the incident wasn't totally blocked of by his mind due to trauma - before it pounced on him after smelling the stench of his fear. He'd barely made it out alive. And Frog Choir was the worst thing imaginable.

"Definitely not the ones I've taken so far." He answered with a nod of approval at his own assessment.

When he was questioned again the following week, he'd just finished lunch and was leaving for his music class. Gibbon was just grateful it wasn't Muggle music. He was already burning a hole, literally, through the parchment at the sight of the accursed reference. That was one class he wouldn't be attending, at all.

"Xylomancy was dull, and orchestra was just as terrible. I'm hoping this class will be better."

And as it turned out, it wasn't much better. The class itself was a course on instruments, an overview for those interested in working with them one day. It even required future essays dedicated to researching each instrument they studied and its histories. Gibbon was just moderately glad the professor wasn't Binns. At least he wasn't bored, though her voice was sadly grating on his ears.

The same girl who had questioned him before sat next to him during lunch, opening the conversation with talk of his electives.

"So, anything catch your eye, yet?"

"I didn't like Divination, despite letter my mother had sent to me recently, filled with pride about the witches in her family whom claimed to have had the gift of sight. I don't have it myself, and don't aspire to scam others that much."

She rolled her eyes and snorted. "I would, if I had a plan and a chance."

"Well, I am not you, unless you are me and I do not know."

She raised her eyebrows and sighed. "That made absolutely not a lick of sense, you realise."

"Yes, it did," Gibbon frowned, pausing to shove a piece of food in his mouth. Once he'd chewed thoroughly and swallowed, he opened his mouth to continue on with an explanation, but found that he had none. "I concede."

She chuckled at his defeat and shrugged her shoulders.

"Any other classes?"

"I'm to take Astronomy later on tonight and Ghoul Studies at half past seven on Thursday."

"Any hopes there?"

"Maybe for Astronomy, but the latter sounds like it'll be a waste of precious time to sleep."

But unfortunately for Gibbon, the opposite of his theory had proven true. Ghoul Studies wasn't particularly fun, or a subject he'd found excitement in, but it was loads better than Astronomy. Astronomy wasn't what he remembered from his childhood. It had, of course, nothing to do with nearly being pushed out the window by accident, and to his death below. The subject itself just wasn't pleasing to someone like him.

* * *

"Nope?"

"No."

The girl, Evangeline if his memory served him well, shook her head in resignation.

This pattern of their exchanges carried on for a period of eight weeks before he'd finally been able to answer with an affirmative after a Saturday afternoon of lounging in the common room, and a subsequent lunch in the Great Hall.

When he'd walked into the Earth Magic classroom that morning, he'd already been regretting having chosen to go along with this ludicrous scheme set up by his Head of House. What professor held a class on the first Hogsmeade weekend? Obviously someone without any sort of soul. An evil, evil being. That walked around without a soul.

Taking a seat with a grumble, because he was way too tired for any sort of class on a Saturday meant for sleeping in and relaxing, he took out the booklet he'd been given in light of his test runs and turned to the corresponding page for Earth Magic. Checking that he had the appropriate materials - a clay bowl, a toolkit meant for sculptors, gloves, parchment and quill - he relaxed and sat back in his seat.

The class was soon filled, large for one that was hardly spoken about, and he wondered if there was a reason for that.

"Welcome," the professor's voice seemed to boom, resounding off the walls with the likeness of an Apparition crack. Gibbon found his attention already centred on him, and reluctantly felt impressed momentarily. "Many of you lot may be groaning at the thought of taking a class on a Saturday morning, but no worries. The schedule will shift in a few weeks. Many of the extra-curricular classes tend to take a backseat to classes in higher demand, such as Divination or Arithmancy. Ones that don't require extra classes to take in accordance to the demands of the course."

His pale and sharp features were accentuated by the grey robes he wore, simultaneously complemented by the soft, thick hair that sat atop his head in wavy curls, and the sparkling, violet eyes that seemed to demand one's utmost attention almost immediately.

Tilting his head to the side, Gibbon found his interest rise rather exponentially and suddenly.

Those same, booming tones lowered considerably, though they still rang a certain impact within Gibbon. Gibbon quietly observed the students surrounding him at all sides, and noted they were just as captivated as he.

"First, a brief introduction to the course itself.

"Earth magic isn't of the variety that is typically mainstream, and thus practised by many wizards and witches. In fact, and this mayn't be a surprise for many of you, it's one of the few ancient magics that has been largely overtaken by the conveniences of Transfigurations and Charms, easily and often more compatible magics for many of you."

As he spoke on and on, a lilt of passion within his voice, Gibbon found himself absorbing the information in a rapid pace.

"Gibbon," Evangeline, shook him gently. He snapped out of the memory rather abruptly and blinked slowly at his surroundings. "Knut for your thoughts?"

"Earth magic," he spoke distinctly, spooning up a bit of porridge into his bowl and a bit of cinnamon along with it.

"Earth magic?"

"I've chosen Earth magic to be my favourite class."

She was silent for a few seconds before nodding her head.

When Gibbon glanced up at the Head Table, Professor Slughorn met his own at the same time, and gave a wink.

Sighing, Gibbon ducked his head and stirred his porridge.

"What is it?" When he looked at her, he noticed Evangeline had picked up her auburn hair and directed it towards her left shoulder, trying not to get it in her syrupy pancakes without tying it up.

"I think there's something wrong with Professor Slughorn..."

She glanced at their Head of House.

"Why do you think that?"

"He's been giving me weird looks lately, and he just winked at me."

"Maybe he has a twitch."

"That's what I'm saying!"

And as they laughed over a professor who had probably gone certifiably mad in his age, Gibbon knew that he was going to enjoy the rest of the school year, despite the rocky start. After all, Earth magic wasn't dull nor required any sort of horrible, antagonistic creature to tame. Just magic, resonance with ancient power, and a keen mind.

* * *

**Author's Note**:

I wrote crack, gais. I can't be ashamed of it.


End file.
